Lament In D
by Naruke
Summary: Hearing voices in the wizarding world is not a particularly good thing. And Draco Malfoy's beginning to hear them. All he knows is that the owner of the voice is a girl and has named something 'Arnold'. Who is she, and what does she want? [SPOILERS]
1. Part I

**Disclaimer: **I'm not British, as much as I like to think I am. So, I am not getting any profit from this, nor do I expect to, blah blah BLAH.

**WARNING! HBP SPOILERS! **A lot of the lines in scenes with Harry in them are taken directly from the book. I don't own them, either. So, without further ado...

**-Lament In D-**

When his mother finally arrived home at the godforsaken hour of two in the morning, Draco was rather irritated. What business at his Aunt Bellatrix's could possibly take five hours? Therefore, when the door to the sitting room eased open, he turned to ask his mother just that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mother and aunt stood there, Narcissa looking very guilty and Bellatrix shifty. They were both rather pale.

"Where have you been, Mother? Mrs. Parkinson wanted to discuss the garden..."

"We were just catching up on the news and forgot the time," Narcissa lied smoothly. "And if Mrs. Parkinson is so anxious to speak with me, why did she not send an owl?" Draco shrugged. The woman's mind was rather hard to understand at the best of times.

"Where were you really, Mother?" he asked. His mother's features froze in an uneasy smile; and Bellatrix snorted. "Snorting is most unlady-like, Aunt Bellatrix." He smirked.

"We were at Snape's, the cheap bastard. Lives in a shit house out on-"

"Bella, please be quiet."

His aunt shrugged and was silent; Draco's curiosity was piqued. "Professor Snape's house? Why?"

Bellatrix sent a condescending look in Narcissa's direction. "Cissy here wanted to make sure that if you couldn't do it, Snape-y would."

Draco stiffened, as did his mother. "You think me not capable of killing that old fool, Mother?" he snarled.

Narcissa, sensing trouble, rushed to sooth his injured pride. "No, Draco, simply if a situation were to arise and you could not do it because…certain other things prevented it, than the good Professor could take care of it for you."

He and his aunt snorted. Most likely she laughed at the other woman's use of 'the good Professor'; he, however, was amused for an entirely different reason. "Mother, I am perfectly capable of assassination. And besides, I don't think I'll need Professor Snape to stand in for me when the time comes, as I have a plan."

Narcissa grimaced. "And what would that be, Draco?"

Smugly, he smirked at his mother. "You have your secrets, and I have mine. Goodnight, Mother, Aunt Bellatrix." He pivoted and walked briskly to his room.

---

About a week after this encounter, Draco was on a stool in Madam Malkin's robe store, arguing with his mother.

"But, Draco, really. You can't wander around without someone. At least take that young Parkinson girl with you."

"Pansy? Mother, please! She tags after me enough as it is." He replied scathingly. "I am not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother! I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping _alone_."

Madame Malkin clucked at him. "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with you being a child-"

A stray pin chose that moment to prick him painfully on his left arm. "Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"

Rudely ripping his arm out of the shop owner's grasp, he stalked over to the mirror, giving himself the once-over. They made him look rather peaky, he thought; he'd just have the old woman alter the color a bit. Raising his eyes, he saw Gryffindor's Golden Trio: Potter, Weasley, and Granger. He narrowed his eyes. "If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in." he spat.

Madam Malkin went around the clothes-rack they were behind, saying, "I don't think there's any need for language like that!" Seeing Potter and Weasley's drawn wands, she added hastily, "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!"

The Mudblood (who had a black eye, he noticed) whispered something to the other two; he had a fairly decent idea she was telling them he wasn't worth it. "Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school. Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers!" he sneered.

"That's quite enough!" Malkin broke in; looking over her shoulder at Narcissa, she said: "Madam-please-"

His mother glided out from behind the clothes-rack, and she glared at the trio. "Put those away," she said frostily. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Potter, stepping forward. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Madam Malkin gasped and clutched her chest. "Really, you shouldn't accuse-dangerous thing to say-wands away, please!"

Potter's wand remained where it was, and his mother smiled rather unkindly. "I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

His heart sped up as it always did at the mention of his impending mission. "…why not have a go?" the black-haired boy was saying. "They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Outraged, Draco tried to lunge at Potter, but tripped over his overly long robes; Weasley laughed irritatingly loud. "Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" he hissed.

"It's all right, Draco." She stilled him with a pale hand. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Potter's wand rose even higher. The Mudblood was trying vainly to calm Potter down. Dithering momentarily, Malkin finally decided that it would be best to just go on fitting him as though nothing had happened. "I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just-"

The pin lightly grazed the tattoo on his forearm. "Ouch!" He bellowed, most un-Malfoy-like. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother-I don't think I want these anymore-" He yanked the robes over his head and tossed them unceremoniously on the floor.

"You're right, Draco," his mother said, shooting a disgusted look at Granger, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here…we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's." As he and his mother took leave of the stupid shop, he took extra care to tread on the Weasel's foot, smirking triumphantly at his hiss of pain.

---

Draco finally managed to throw off his mother, muttering about going the Apothecary for potion supplies. Pansy had leapt to go with him, but upon receiving his trademark death glare, she hastily asked Narcissa how the Malfoy garden was coming along.

Walking as fast as dignity allowed, he walked straight past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke shop, where theirU-No-Poo sign was emblazoned across the window. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, just to make sure Pansy hadn't tired of the Malfoy gardens and had decided to come after him after all. No one was there.

He strode into Knockturn Alley confidently, almost immediately reaching his destination: Borgin and Burkes. It had been four years since he had last set foot inside the dusty shop, but he remembered it well; it also, handily, contained something he would be needing later on in the school year.

The bell on the door jingled, and Borgin was at the front within seconds. "Borgin," he said, nodding.

"Ah, young Master Malfoy! I have recently just gotten a shipment of-"

"Not now, Borgin. I'm not interested. You have a Vanishing Cabinet, right?"

The other man became guarded. "Yes, I do, Mister Malfoy. What of it?"

"Don't take that tone with me," Draco snarled, "I need you to keep it for me, as I have…need of it." Forgetting that he was standing in front of a window where anyone could see, he began gesticulating rather wildly. "There's one at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape-the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Borgin interrupted. "But I thought he was Potions Master!"

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong," Draco said impatiently. "Anyway, he wants me to make a channel between the two of them. But it's broken. Do you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," the shop-keeper said evasively. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't. It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

The older man licked his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" he sneered. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He stepped toward Borgin and showed him the Dark Mark. He smirked at the terror on the other's face. "Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention." This was, of course, complete and total bull, but what Borgin didn't know wouldn't hurt him and would simply speed up the process.

"There will be no need for-"

"I'll decide that. Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep _that_ one safe, I'll need it." He pointed at the other cabinet.

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

What little patience he had snapped. "No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not…sir." Borgin bowed low, and so he missed the look of utter disdain upon the other's face.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally…" he said, bowing even lower. _Simpering old fool,_ he thought smugly. He had done what he had come to do. With that thought, he left, emerging from Knockturn Alley a sight happier than what he had been.

---

That night, his mother had been rather put-out with him for giving her the slip. "Where did you go?"

The urge to sigh impatiently was almost overwhelming, but he refrained. "I told you, Mother, I went to the Apothecary to get potion supplies." He wasn't lying; he had gone to the Apothecary. He was only omitting part of the truth. His mother believed him, merely saying, "Just don't do it again, Draco."

Inclining his head respectfully, he said "Yes, Mother. It won't happen again."

He retired to his room, pulling out a heavy tome to read. He needed some ideas for murder if his Plan A happened to not work. He was reading a promising entry about Intestine Expelling Curses when it happened: a quiet voice whispered in his mind. ..._and I shall name you Arnold!_

Immediately, he tensed. "Who's there?" he hissed. He could almost feel the voice's shock.

_You can hear me? Who are you?_

He snorted loudly, bogies coming dangerously close to shooting out of his nostrils. "Yes, I can hear you. And I'm Draco Malfoy; you should bloody well know that if you're going to talk in my head!"

This time, when the voice spoke, it was puzzled. _I…didn't mean to. _It became suddenly fearful. _What did you hear?_

"Something about Arnold, you git. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

_I'm a girl, and that's all you need to know, _came the impish reply. "What House, then? Tell me that at least."

_Don't you want to guess?_ He cursed. "Dammit, can't you just tell me!" _No, it's much more fun this way; if you can't tell by the end of the year then I'll show you._

"Fine, whatever. Just go away now." He growled. _As you wish,_ she said impudently.

"Draco? Who were you talking to?" Damn. His mother had heard him.

"A house-elf, Mother." He lied.

"Oh. Alright. You should get to sleep soon; the Parkinsons are coming over early tomorrow to see the garden."

"Yes, Mother." Rolling his eyes, he slammed the book shut. What kind of Slytherin thought gardening was interesting?


	2. Part II

**Author's Note**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed (and even those who didn't). It's taken me a bit to finally get around to typing it, so sorry. Enjoy. Standard disclaimer still applies.

**-Part II-**

Weeks passed after Draco's encounter with the voice with no further incident. Finally, September first arrived, and he and his mother were driven to King's Cross Station by the Malfoy family chauffeur. His mother kissed him on his cheeks when he said good-bye; the show of affection rather astounded him. Gruffly, he shrugged her off, saying, "_Mother._"

He heaved his trunk onto the train and left it in the compartment Crabbe and Goyle were already lounging in. "Put this up," he demanded. Turning swiftly on his heel, he made his way to the prefects' carriage. He did not want to go to this meeting. He wanted to relax and contemplate ways to get at Dumbledore. Throwing the door open, he sat next to Pansy and crossed his arms. Granger and Weasley came in soon after and he smirked nastily at the Mudblood, disappointed that her shiner had gone away. He received two dirty looks in return.

The Head Boy and Girl came in as the train began to move. Dispassionately, he noticed that Cho Chang of Ravenclaw had made Head Girl. He didn't know the boy and didn't particularly care. Chang and the other made the standard 'This Year I Will…' speech, and Draco's attention drifted. He thought of quite a few things, not the least of which was his impending murder of Dumbledore. How could he go about this? He could perform the Killing Curse (if there was one thing Bellatrix Lestrange had taught him, it had been that and Occlumency) but what good would it do him if he couldn't ever get the headmaster alone?

People began to exit the compartment, and Draco was brought forcefully out of his thoughts. For once, the prospect of frightening first years was not exciting. Pansy, clearly expecting him to do just that, made in the direction of a full compartment of first years; when Draco went in the opposite direction, she called out, "Draco? Aren't you-"

"Never mind that, Pansy. I'm tired." Immediately Pansy was clamoring over him, feeling his forehead for a temperature. "Get _off_, Pansy. I just want to get back to the carriage!" He shoved her unceremoniously from him and stalked to his compartment. On his way there, he saw a certain Ginny Weasley in the carriage down the way from him, accompanied by her boyfriend and arguing with a blonde Hufflepuff. He was consumed by a sudden rage and threw the carriage door open with more force than necessary.

He was settling down in his usual place when a weedy second-year Ravenclaw stumbled in. "What?" Draco demanded.

"F-for Blaise Z-zabini!" the boy squeaked, eyes wide with fright. Zabini leaned across Goyle to grab the piece of parchment from him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get out," Zabini growled. The scared boy dashed out of the compartment as fast as his short legs could take him.

"Slughorn? Who the hell is he?" Zabini mused, perusing the invitation.

The name sparked something in Draco's memory. "Slughorn? He'steaching at Hogwarts this year. Potions, I think."

The other made a non-committal noise and stepped out of the carriage without saying any more. More than slightly intrigued as to why the new Potionsmaster would want to talk to Blaise, Draco reclined into Pansy's lap; her fingers immediately went to his baby-fine blonde hair. The gentle tugging and massaging of his scalp put him in a semi-trance. He was still in this state when the door slid open again to admit Zabini.

He seemed to being a bit of trouble with the door. "What's wrong with this thing?" He kept trying to shut it when suddenly the door flew open of its own accord –_Someone must be there; it couldn't do that by itself_, he thought idly-and Zabini crashed into Goyle. Of course, Goyle _had_ to push back, and a tussle ensued. A flash of white above Crabbe's head attracted Malfoy's attention. He thought it looked rather like a pair of white trainers…

The conflict between Goyle and Zabini had ended, Goyle looking as dim as always and Blaise more than a little ruffled. "So, Zabini, what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," (Zabini was still glaring daggers at Goyle) "not that he managed to find many."

Irritated, he demanded, "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor-"

"Oh, yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry."

"-someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw-"

"Not him, he's a prat!" interjected Pansy.

"-and Longbottom, Potter, and the Weasley girl."

Draco sat bolt upright, knocking Pansy's hand away. Almost too late he realized what he had done and hastily threw out, "He invited _Longbottom_?"

"Well, I assume so, as he was there."

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Zabini merely shrugged. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at '_the Chosen One_'." To make sure that the rest of his companions did not think overly into his reaction at the girl weasel's name, he added, "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her_?"

"A lot of boys like her," Pansy said, and he could not help but notice her studying him. _She knew._ "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know hard you are to please!" It took all his will power not to curse Zabini then and there; Zabini was going after the Weaselette?

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," the other boy hissed.

Satisfied, Malfoy reclined once again. "Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or-"

To his surprise, Zabini interrupted him. "I wouldn't bank on an invitation. He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

He felt his lip curl in anger, but forced out a laugh anyway. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." He yawned theatrically. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

Predictably, Pansy looked astounded. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?"

"Well, you never know. I might have-er-moved on to bigger and better things."

Everyone in the carriage was staring at him in either curiosity or awe, which suited him just fine. "Do you mean-_Him_?" Pansy whispered.

He shrugged. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it…When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't…It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him? Sixteen years old and not even qualified yet?"

Ignoring Zabini, he quietly continued: "I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for."

Crabbe and Goyle's faces were contorted in a more concentrated look of stupefied awe than usual, and Pansy's look was simply too sugary to look at for long.

Happy with the reaction he had procured, he pointed out the dark window. "I can see Hogwarts. We'd better get our robes on."

Goyle swung his trunk down and he distinctly heard a gasp of pain. Frowning unconsciously, he pulled his own robes on. He locked his trunk and, as the train jerked to a halt, fastened his new cloak around his neck. With one final lurch, the train came to a stop, and Goyle pushed and shoved his way through a crowd of second years with Crabbe and Zabini following in his wake.

Pansy extended her hand in an expectant gesture. "You go on. I just want to check something." Mentally shuddering at the thought of touching Pansy's clammy hands, he went to shut the blinds as she left. He crouched down by his trunk; the creak of the luggage rack made him imagine the intruder leaning over the rack to see him better. Surreptitiously pulling his wand out of a cloak pocket, Draco aimed over his shoulder. _"Petrificus Totalus!" _

He was rewarded with a thunderous crash. Turning, he was mildly surprised to find Harry Potter crumpled on the floor, Invisibility Cloak wadded beneath him. He smiled broadly. "I thought so. I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back…" He stared at Potter's trainers for a moment. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here…" He slammed his foot into the Gryffindor's face and felt it crack; he was strangely pleased by the blood pouring from his rival's face. "That's from my father. Now, let's see…"

Dragging the cloak from underneath Potter, he threw it on top of him, making him immobilized and weak. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London. See you around, Potter…or not."

Pressing down extra hard with his heel where he thought Potter's fingers would be, he left the carriage. On his way down the nearly empty corridor, he bumped into Ginny Weasley. Smiling nastily, he elbowed her, hard enough that she crashed into a nearby compartment door. Her face contorted with fury. "Bastard," he heard her mutter as he walked away; a part of him deflated.

---

Draco looked around for Goyle or Crabbe's massive form, and he was not disappointed. They and Pansy were waiting for him in front of a carriage. "There you are, Draco!" cried Pansy, throwing herself on him. "I was wondering when you'd get here?"

"I was dealing with…trouble."

Immediately, the girl's curiosity was piqued. "Ooh, was it that stupid Weasley? Or the Mudblood?"

Smirking, he replied, "No, but close. Potter."

Pansy grinned maliciously, and Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weasley and Granger, and he mimed stepping hard on something. "Broke his nose," (he held a hand to his own, as though trying to stifle blood) "then put his own Invisibility Cloak on him." Pansy was laughing openly now, and he saw, triumphantly, Weasley leveling a suspicious glare at him. Wrapping his long fingers around Pansy's elbow, he murmured, "Come, inside, before the filth arrives." The dark-haired Slytherin had noted their presence as well, and nodded, flouncing into the carriage with Draco's help.

The ride to Hogwarts seemed short. Stepping out of the carriage, he helped Pansy down. Seconds later, at the great oak doors, he was accosted by Filch wielding a Dark Detector. "Haven't got any Dark things on yeh, eh?" the caretaker growled, prodding him painfully in the ribs.

He passed the probing with no problem; Crabbe, however, was not so lucky. A shrunken head was confiscated. "What was the head for, Crabbe?" Zabini asked idly. The heavier boy shrugged his rounded shoulders noncommittally.

They took their place at the Slytherin table, and Draco heard a whisper in his mind. _Watch where you're sticking that thing, you great pillock!_ Smirking to himself, he knew what she must be experiencing: Filch's probe.

A short while later, McGonagall came out with the Sorting Hat and its accompanying stool, a long line of short first years trailing after. Impatiently, Draco waited for the Sorting to end so he could eat; his triumphant encounter with The Boy Who Lived had served to make him ravenous. Finally, it was over. Dumbledore gave his welcome, and the feast began. He piled his plate as high as was dignified before eating with gusto. Just when everyone was nearly finished with the first course, the boy of his ire strode in (blood-spattered, he was pleased to see), Professor Snape gliding behind him. He was at the Hufflepuff table before people began to really stare. Cursing under his breath, he wondered how Potter had managed to get off the train so early.

Potter finally reached the other two members of the Gryffindor Golden Trio; Weasley stared as blatantly as every other student. Potter, in apparent response to whatever the red-head had said, picked up a spoon and studied his reflection. Granger whipped out her wand and performed some kind of siphoning spell so that Potter's robes slowly became clean. _Pity_, he thought. _It looked good on him. _

Zabini leaned across a plate of treacle tarts. "Pansy tells me you had an encounter with Potter. Did you really break his nose?"

Smirking, Draco nodded, proceeding to mime the scene. Zabini and any listening Slytherins roared with laughter, and he was cruelly delighted to see Potter look over and know exactly what he was doing. He finished his act to much applause. Pansy simpered over him, telling him how brave and witty he was.

A little while later, Dumbledore stood for his welcoming speech. "The very best of evenings to you!" he cried, smiling broadly. A black, twisted hand poked out of the end of the headmaster's right sleeve. Sickened, Draco looked away. Whispers had begun to break out around them, and he knew the hand was the subject of it all. "Nothing to worry about," Dumbledore said, shaking his sleeve over the hand. "Now…to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…"

He rambled on for a few minutes about Filch's new additions to his banned items list and Quidditch team tryouts. Finally, he arrived at a semi-interesting subject: the introduction of Horace Slughorn. "We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

The whispering began anew. The trio put their heads together, also whispering furiously. "Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore continued, raising his voice to be heard over the hiss of low voices, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!"

Resisting the almost over-whelming urge to roll his eyes, Draco sneered at Potter, though the other didn't notice. Clapping austerely, Draco eyed Snape. He raised a hand in acceptance of the raucous applause from Slytherin. The former Potions master's beetle-black eyes caught his. Nodding slightly, Snape turned away.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Knowing almost instinctively what the bearded man was going to say, Draco drew his wand and focused on levitating his fork. "Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." Indeed, he had been right: The subject of Voldemort had been broached. He continued on about everyone's safety.

"…know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

His fork falling to the table with a soft clank, he scooted back the bench along with everyone else in the hall. Looking disdainfully at the weedy first years, Draco called, "Common room's this way." Most looking frightened, they followed him without question.

"Not going to taunt them, Draco?" Pansy called. Draco shook his head. She, looking rather disappointed, sidled up to him. "None at all?"

"No, Pansy." He brushed past her, striding regally down the corridor to the Slytherin common room.

_No disparaging of first years? Could you be turning a new leaf?_ Laughed the voice. "Not you too," he growled, forgetting where he was. One of the closer first years looked at him strangely. Realizing he must have spoken aloud, he glowered at the girl. "Got a problem, you little chit?" Eyes wide, the girl backed away. _Now they're convinced you're mad, _the other mused.

Picking up his stride, he grimaced angrily. _Shut up._ A tinkling laugh sounded outside his mind, and he turned his head to catch a brief glimpse of red and brown hair.


End file.
